Meddling and Melding
by abraxis
Summary: Complete. KS. What was really going on in “Requiem for Methuselah” and what happened afterward. First time story. AU since in my universe Gol never happens.


Meddling and Melding

Author: Abraxisdragon

Rating: R just to be safe 

Parings: K/S, K/Mitchell

Disclaimer: Everything here belongs to Paramount: characters, locations and referenced episodes. The only thing that is mine is the plot. I am doing this only for the love of the characters, no money involved.

Warnings: m/m slash, consensual adult sex, angst in abundance. Other than that nothing should offend.

Summary: What was really going on in "Requiem for Methuselah" and what happened afterward. First time story. AU since in my universe Gol never happens.

Meddling and Melding

Chapter 1

The lighting was dimmed to the level of a moonless night. The temperature of the two room suite was that of summer at midday. Vulcan night and Vulcan summer. Light from a fire pot threw flickering red against the walls. A Vulcan male sitting before the fire pot, dressed in black meditation robes completed the human image of hell.

The irony was that this Vulcan might have, at this precise moment, found several points of agreement with that perception. For, if eating from the tree of knowledge had lost the face of god and opened hell's gates to human souls, illicit knowledge was having much the same effect on his Vulcan mind. As Adam and Eve had listened to the siren's voice of the serpent and allowed it to rationalize disobedience, he had allowed emotion to do the same to him. Lastly, just as Adam and Eve were never reported to have offered to give up the knowledge they had acquired to regain Eden, he could not bring himself to regret the acquisition of his own; the method, perhaps, but not the knowledge.

Spock sat staring into the fire pot, attempting to find some level of calm that would allow him to begin his meditation. He had spent 2.65 hours of his off shift in the effort and had not been able to do so. He could not find it in himself to be so hypocritical as to enter into the Discipline of Surak with the crimes that he had committed against its basic teachings still unrepented. He stood quickly and crossed the room to sit at his desk and stare at the flickering light playing across the bulkhead before him.

Logic would dictate that only through meditation would he find the control to correct his aberrant thinking; the control to repent and correct the results of the acts it had led him to commit; the control to return to the life-path that was the only proper one for a Vulcan to walk. Yet, he was deeply concerned that the required correction of those results would preclude any possibility of repentance; any possibility of returning to that life-path. Every approach to the problem that he had tried to this point had done nothing but send his logical reasoning spinning in circles.

Even the action he had taken of melding with a sentient being without that being's conscious consent and, worse, knowing full well it would not have been given had it been requested, while the most heinous proof of his aberrance, was not something that logic could repent in all its parts. To do so would be to leave himself still unaware of the extent to which his thought processes had become unstable; to wish to continue to stumble into error after error through self-deluding rationalization until there would be no possibility of correcting the damage he had caused to himself and, most importantly, to another; one very special other.

Were that the total product of it, there would be little problem in deciding upon a course of action and implementing it. It would be a simple matter of meditating his rebellious emotions into submission and retaining them in that stasis until the fast approaching end of Enterprise's five year mission. At that point, his resignation from Star Fleet and submitting himself to the disciplines of Gol would make a successful and permanent end to the problem.

But, it was not that simple. The knowledge garnered from the mind of that other, that had finally made it impossible to avoid the emotional contamination of his logic, had also opened wide the gates to the very situation that those emotions had been subtly luring him toward from the very beginning. The impossible, so easily dealt with, had now become quite possible and quite difficult to deal with. That knowledge also made him quite aware that he had lured another along with him into this quagmire of impossible possibles. Now, he was not only responsible for his own extraction but also that other's

In the whole mess of it, only one thing was crystal clear. Whatever choices he made, the first and greatest priority must be the least further damage to that other no matter what the consequences to himself might be.

After McCoy left, Spock stood watching Captain James T. Kirk sleep. It was not an easy nor restful sleep. The human sat at his desk, his upper body collapsed across it's surface in exhaustion. But this was not physical fatigue. It was mental and emotional overload that gave no peace even in unconsciousness.

As he watched, his captain's broad intelligent brow furrowed deeply. The usually strong, sure, handsome face twisted with an expression of painful remorse. His breathing was uneven and the exhalations were a chain of very soft but, to Vulcan ears, obvious moans. Spock was quite sure that should Jim wake and his eyes open there would be nothing but anguish in them.

Jim had voiced a wish to forget.

McCoy's last words, a whispered plea, had echoed that.

"If only he could forget."

But, both statements were only human emotionalism. They often voiced such 'wishes' in times of stress that they would not find acceptable once they had regained control.

Amnesia, of course, was not an acceptable solution; not for a starship captain to experience and not for a Vulcan to unilaterally induce. Still, it was not logical to allow such suffering if it was possible to alleviate it by more appropriate means. To this end, he ranged his thoughts over the events of the recent past, struggling to find a logical thread to explain this deep, overt and extended emotional reaction.

The Rayna android had indeed been very esthetically pleasing in form. It had also been a fascinating piece of genius level engineering and design. Its programming's ability to mimic a sentient being to the extent that it had done so was less interesting scientifically than its ability to solve cognitive problems of a high order. That it was unable to find a cognitive solution to the totally emotional situation in the limited time that Kirk's and Flint's competitive behaviors allowed it was only to be expected; as he had most assuredly warned Jim Kirk at the time. That either man had expected it to be able to function on an emotional or, more accurately, an instinctual level was most puzzling.

On consideration, Flint's expectation had some psychological basis underlying it. He expected it because that was his ultimate goal for the android; to actually become a sentient being. This was a very illogical and scientifically unsound goal but Flint was not the first to have made that error. An analysis of Flint's particular situation gave ample justification for his pursuit of a companion of equal longevity. The error came in the method selected to achieve this goal.

That Jim Kirk would still have had a similar desire for the android's companionship, even after being made aware of its true nature, was much more difficult to analyze. It was also questionable that he had not discovered or at least suspected this nature for himself long before Spock's investigations had provided solid proof of it.

Spock had been suspicious of Rayna from the very first. Vulcans, while functionally only touch telepaths other than through a bond, were not psychically blind otherwise. If they were, it would not be necessary for them to require such total shielding of one's emotions as a social imperative among themselves. With other beings, beings of lower psi abilities, it was simply easier to shield against the emotional auras when touch was not involved. When one had use for that sense, it could be employed by relaxing the shield.

While Flint had radiated emotions far different from the amiable calm his body and words portrayed and did so at a greater than normal strength, Rayna had a nil emotional aura even when 'her' expressions and vocalizations were mimicking great emotion. The conclusion was that Flint, though quite untrustworthy, was a mentally normal human and that Rayna was not.

Humans, on average, had some ability for this sensing of emotional auras though they preferred to think of it as being able to read others through subtle body language and other factors tied to the five non-psychic senses. Jim Kirk was extremely able at this type of "reading". It was one of the important factors in his command ability. He had easily discerned the contradictions in Flint. Why had he not questioned the lack of aura in Rayna?

But, aside from this puzzle, there was the matter of his almost instant depth of attraction and now his inordinately strong reaction to the android's malfunction. Spock's observations during their association had shown that, with a few rare exceptions, Jim Kirk was very careful to limit himself to flirtatious short-term affairs, avoiding any deeper relationships that might threaten his true grand passion, the command slot of the Starship Enterprise. Even those exceptions, including the death of Edith Keeler, had not left him in this depth of emotional distress. For a human, Jim could be remarkably pragmatic concerning the personal costs of his command decisions.

Then, again, the destruction of the android hadn't been the result of command necessity but of personal need. Once the ryetalyn, the focus of the mission, had been secured, the pattern of behavior Spock had long come to expect from his captain would have forced him to withdraw from the conflict with Flint; would have forced him to take the personal loss as a matter of course. That he had continued to pursue his own emotional needs was as abnormal as his focus on the android for those needs had been. The only conclusion Spock could come to was that there was something at play here in his captain's mind that he would not be able to fathom unless Jim were willing to talk of it, highly unlikely, or he, Spock, were to initiate a meld to ascertain it.

There were precedents for such unilateral melds between healers and patients of such diminished capacity as to be considered unable to make a valid judgment on the need for the meld. However, Spock was not a trained healer nor, despite Dr. McCoy's deep concern, was Jim Kirk anywhere near the required level of instability. The Disciplines of Surak dictated that, under these circumstances, such a meld would be totally unacceptable.

At this precise moment, the human stirred restlessly. A poignant groan escaped his lips. All thoughts of honor, discipline and acceptability were short-circuited and Spock found himself moving swiftly to his captain's side. This pain must end.

His fingers brushed the sandy blond hair. Softer, less coarse, yet with a slightly more wiry texture to its curling strands than his own silky, straight, black ones; and so cool to the touch; it fascinated him as it always had the few previous times he had experienced touching it. His fingers wanted to linger but he forced them to continue until the meld points were reached. It required little effort to reach the first stage of contact. Jim was dreaming and the images and his thoughts were at the surface of his mind. What he seemed to be experiencing was a looping repeat of the same dream.

"No! No more of this! ... No more of it!"

But the thought-pleas seem to have no effect. The dream began to play again. Initially, the images formed were, not unexpectedly, snippets of accurate memories of the events on Flint's planet. However, very quickly Spock found them differing significantly from his own. In every memory involving the android, Jim Kirk's thoughts were focused not on the beautiful woman that it mimicked but on the knowledge and pure logic that it truly possessed. There was no sign of the sexual component to the attraction that Spock had assumed there had been. Kirk had also been aware of the lack of emotional aura but, while it had raised the same suspicions in him as in Spock, he had thought it a normal companion to the other mental attributes. It had actually added to his interest in Rayna.

Jim had known! No ... that was not totally correct. He had not known that it was a mechanism. He had only known that it was not the human woman Flint had claimed it to be. Initially, his actions had been a coldly calculated facade of seduction, perpetrated for its effect on Flint not the android. Only when the android had attempted to respond did an odd mix of true emotions develop in Jim Kirk.

The first had been surprise; no ... shock. Then there had been a most immodest rush of pride and satisfaction at his ability to influence such perfect cold logic to seek emotional knowledge. This was quickly replaced by longing and need of a depth that shook Spock to his core; all the more so because he still couldn't discern the reason for it. There was still no sexual component.

The emotional trigger reached, the dream images then flashed immediately to the point of the confrontation between Kirk and Flint with Rayna trapped between them. Again, the perspective from Jim Kirk's mind was totally at odds with what Spock had assumed at the time. But, in it, Spock found his answer.

In Jim's mind, Flint had not been the enemy intent on taking Rayna from him. Spock had. The dream became surreal. The android now stood between Kirk and himself. Jim's heated emotional pleadings flailing hopelessly against Vulcan ice. Suddenly the android disappeared. The arguments were the same but it was Spock himself that Jim was reaching out to, reaching out for. There was the same aching emotional and psychological need but joined with the full strength of Jim's sexuality.

Waves of molten desire radiated from him; desire that spanned the total range of need from intellectual through emotional to pure physical lust. It seemed impossible to Spock, the observer, that anything could stand against the power of it. Even the stones of Seleya would have shook from it. He was not in the least surprised when the image Spock reached out to Jim, embraced him.

The two kissed. For one brief second, it was as if they stood entwined in the center of a yellow sun; a pulsing magma of joyous completion. Then the image Spock pulled its head back and Jim Kirk stared into coldly logical eyes.

"It isn't human, Captain. If you continue in this, you will destroy it."

With these words the eyes of the Spock image died. It became the same broken mechanism that the android had become. All the brilliance died with it. There was only black despair as Jim Kirk held the body to him and wailed in anguish.

The shock of this revelation battered Spock's control. With no thought of ethics nor consequences and a total lack of finesse, he blocked any memories Jim Kirk had of the android as anything but an interesting oddity and any thoughts of his actions as motivated by anything other than duty to his mission.

"Forget. ... Forget"

Then, more gently, he sent Jim Kirk's mind into a deep healing sleep. Lifting him easily into his arms, he carried him to his bunk. Once there, it took all Spock's resolve to relinquish the feel of the human's body pressed close against him and lay him on the bed. After removing Jim's boots and covering him with a blanket, Spock dimmed the lights and forced himself to walk quickly out of the captain's quarters.

Spock struggled through the command shift on the bridge. His purpose was twofold; first, to allow no possibility of anything or anyone disturbing Jim Kirk's rest; second, to do everything he could to minimize, if not completely eliminate, any further reference to the Flint/Rayna episode that his captain would have to deal with. He had only blocked and altered the memories not removed them. It wouldn't hold against any deep or continued scrutiny.

To this end, he had personally seen to the completion of all required reports and other duties necessary to end the business completely as far as the Enterprise would be concerned. His past levels of efficiency and attention to detail seemed to prevent any reaction to this excessive attention other than a few questioning looks between the rest of the bridge crew that he could safely ignore. A Star Fleet reminder for the Enterprise to continue the mission assigned prior to the need to divert for the ryetalyn allowed him to maintain the greatest speed possible away from Flint's planet without having to invent justification for it.

He was grateful for both. He really doubted that he would have been capable of forcing himself to further subterfuge than that required to cover his own unsettled state of mind. His concentration on general command tasks and his special project was just barely sufficient to keep thoughts of the dream repressed. This control was almost undone by a visit from Dr. McCoy.

It was to be expected, of course. Even though Spock had posted an observation to the doctor's log that he had left the captain resting peacefully, the good doctor was nothing if not persistent in his concern for the beings whose mental and physical health were his responsibility. Both Jim Kirk and Spock were at the top of his list.

In the beginning, Spock had found this unnecessary, at least as far as he was concerned, and the doctor's seeming illogic and lack of control irritating. It had not been long, however, before he had come to realize the value of the man as a 'devil's advocate', his stance often opposed to Spock's on whatever issue was at hand to balance and broaden the perspectives being considered, and as a rich source for the study of human nature. The Vulcan had developed a great appreciation for the sharp intelligence and depth of knowledge that lurked behind the 'good old country boy' facade.

He had also come to appreciate the man's totally genuine concern for him personally, aside from his crew position; appreciate it and reciprocate it. That was the source of the danger of any prolonged interaction with the man at this present moment. While the bridge crew might have noticed Spock's more than normally rigid control, they had no motivation to challenge it. It was questionable that McCoy would exercise the same reticence. If he kept to the subject of Jim Kirk, Spock was well prepared to deal with that. If McCoy began to dig into Spock's own welfare, he was not sure his control would hold. The doctor could be aggravatingly perceptive at times.

"You require something, Doctor?"

"Just wondered if you'd have time to go over a few things before I make my final reports on all this, Mr. Spock. Maybe over a cup of coffee. I've been on the run without a break all shift."

Whether by circumstance or by McCoy's wise choice, the latter being Spock's surmise, his visit came very near the end of the shift. His personal task fully completed, Spock used this timing to turn over the bridge to Mr. Sulu and accompany McCoy off of the bridge. He was not surprised when McCoy chose the Officers Quarters as their destination rather than the crew lounge and dropped all pretense of general sociability. His stance became quite aggressive.

"I checked on Jim. The readings are all normal, which they shouldn't be, and he didn't even stir when I did it, which he should have. What did you do to him?"

"It is a relatively mild healing sleep, Doctor, something that I have often heard you recommend. He will awaken from it quite naturally. I would suggest that you allow him to do just that."

The lift doors opened and Spock moved quickly toward his own quarters in an attempt to end further interrogation. This didn't work any better than he had expected it to. McCoy followed close on his heels.

"Since you have decided to diagnose and prescribe, Spock, just what do you 'suggest' that I do after he wakes up?"

Spock's control was on its last thread. Anger flooded him. He couldn't prevent this from showing in his movements, voice and expression as he spun to face McCoy.

"That you make the fewest possible references to the incident to either the Captain or myself!"

It had been the wrong reaction but the only one he was capable of. He watched with weary dismay as McCoy's face hardened even further. Then, just as quickly there was understanding in his eyes and his face softened.

"Then that's exactly what I'll do, Spock."

They stared at each other, both aware of the shared secret, neither knowing what else to say. Finally McCoy spoke.

"Don't carry it all, Spock. It's my doing to. From now on, I'll be more careful what I wish for ... even unconsciously. Now get some rest."

Spock watched until McCoy disappeared into the turbolift before entering his quarters. A small secret had been exposed but not the secret that must be hidden at all costs.

Now, as Spock sat at his desk, trying to make some sensible decisions concerning that secret, McCoy's words came back to him.

To be careful what you wish for ... even unconsciously.

It was a very applicable warning for him as well. Made only more so by the fact that a Vulcan was never supposed to be unconscious of anything within his own mind. Yet, he had been that; unconscious of his true motivations, attributing his decisions and actions to logic and the Vulcan-acceptable, even laudable, virtues of dedication and loyalty. Now, Spock knew that hadn't been the truth of it.

Rather than being insulted, as logically he should have been, he had found it immensely pleasing to discover that the android had been a surrogate for the suppressed desire that his captain had for him. He had taken more pleasure in the fact that this desire was so great as to require such an outlet, however flimsy the comparative ties. Nor had the wave of emotion toward his dream image disturbed him as such uncontrolled emotion should have. He had not only not found it disturbing but had been completely receptive to it.

Had he stood physically in the place of the image Spock, he would have surrendered just as it had to the invitation offered. He had, in fact, felt the same emotions of joy and completion, even in his removed state, that Jim Kirk had experienced in his dream. Even now, the remembered image of the embrace, the kiss, made Spock ache to turn the dream into reality; to feel the embracing arms, the press of the hard-soft body and the taste of cool human lips upon his.

These reactions left no doubt whatsoever that Spock did indeed have the same desire for Jim Kirk as his captain had for him. However, where the human had only suppressed his, Spock had been in total denial. Suppression was acceptable. It was the corner stone of Vulcan control. Denial was not. As necessary as it was for him to deal with this newly discovered aspect of his relationship with Jim Kirk, it was more imperative to understand the pattern of its development and the accompanying self-delusion that had allowed it to stay hidden from him. Until that was accomplished, how could he be certain that he was accomplishing anything other than more self-deception?

His thoughts thus ordered to some extent, he concluded that his inability to enter the meditative state he had sought was not further proof of his instability; that it had indeed been only a rejection of a method that would have been unsuccessful. If emotion was at the core of this problem, the denial of emotion would not lead to understanding and solution. Only by allowing himself to fully experience the emotional context of the process would he be able to correctly understand it and make the correct decisions to resolve it. Yet, to say that he had a lack of knowledge as to how that might be accomplished was understatement of the highest order.

This thought raised such a daunting image of the task before him that he experienced a very uncomfortable wave of ... panic? fear? No! It was not such unacceptable emotions. It was a logical assessment of his unsuitability for such an endeavor; his unsuitability for the so desirable, newly offered possibility; his unsuitability for ... He refused to allow himself to voice the name even internally. The pain was sufficient without it.

This line of reasoning could not be correct! To open one's self to the chaos and instability of emotion was anathema to every precept that Spock had been taught and taught to venerate during the whole of his life. If this was a matter of choosing between emotion and logic, there was no decision to make. That there could be a balance between the two extremes seemed so easy for humans to understand and accomplish but ... he was not human.

The dark end of the dream rose to torment him. Since the beginning of their association, when he had found himself at a loss to understand such things, he had turned to Jim Kirk for the explanations. Never, never had he found that source to be insufficient or incorrect. Was it then not logical to trust that innate instinct just as much this time? As distasteful as he found it to be, was he not truly comparable to the android in this? Was he not as unprepared and incapable of surviving the battle between his desire for his captain and his Vulcan heritage as the android had been to survive its battle?

Perhaps that was the very reason that his mind had descended to the aberration of self-deception. Had his subconscious, his suppressed human side, made the same decision that Jim Kirk had made; that only the avoidance of such conflict would insure Spock's survival?

Though his crime against the other was of the greatest magnitude, the actual damage was minimal. The same would not be the result should he allow himself to continue to act against logic. He must carry the burden of his actions without any recourse to the required confession and regress to the one he had wronged.

To confess the meld and repair the memories would require he confess the knowledge gained there as well. That would only increase the damage done. What reaction could he give Jim Kirk that would not? To ignore it would be rejection and suggest only negative reasons such as disgust or worse and be the ruin of their friendship. To reject the relationship openly, no matter what the reasons given, would cause only minimally less emotional pain and certainly the same change in their friendship.

And to attempt such a bonding?

Oh, there was the crux of it. Bonding. Vulcans not only did not but could not have brief, unimportant sexual encounters. To put it crudely, the plumbing didn't work that way. Without such unhealthy events as spores or other mind-altering events, the only way it could work was within a bond. No matter the lack of attraction, the bond insures procreation. Conversely, no matter the depth of the attraction, without the bond it could be nothing but a platonic relationship; exactly what already existed between Jim Kirk and himself.

Just as much as Spock doubted his own ability to succeed in opening himself emotionally to a sufficient degree to make such a bond satisfying to an emotional being like Jim Kirk, he doubted the human's willingness to enter into such an irrevocable permanent bond. Irrevocable marriage was no longer legally supported among humans in any but the most fanatic of sects. Aside from that indication of the nature of the species, Jim Kirk had avoided even the short-term marriage contracts available.

But if he would be willing?

No! This was more self-delusion. The matter still hinged on his emotional fitness for such a bond. This couldn't be a matter of experimentation. To attempt it only to have trapped his love ... Oh, yes, that point was now well proven to him. If he did not bond with Jim Kirk, he would never bond with anyone. But better that than to have trapped his love into a commitment he would come to hate but could not escape. That would be the ultimate wrong. The one thing he must avoid at all cost.

There was only one answer; the answer that both his subconscious and Jim had already reached. Any such confrontation between them must never occur. He must concentrate on controlling and smothering emotion; not indulging it. He must seek the only acceptable solution; the only solution that had ever been acceptable from the day of his birth. The hybrid had now proved unviable in both his halves, both his worlds. The only future left to him he would find at Gol. He stood and turned toward the meditation alcove once more.

Chapter 2

Dr. Leonard McCoy sat staring at his third glass of good southern Bourbon whiskey. It had been a long time since he had broken his own prescribed limit and poured again after finishing a second. But, if anything rated a good sloppy, crying drunk, this surely did. It also rated the splitting headache and sick stomach hangover that would follow.

"That's right, Leonard, old boy. No anti-tox hypo for you tomorrow. Not even an aspirin. And you'll be getting off light. You won't suffer anything compared to what your stupidity is going to put Jim and Spock through."

His words echoed back at him from the bulkheads of his office. Damn, when had he started the habit of vocalizing his thoughts? That's what he'd done those hours ago in Jim's quarters; spoke what he was thinking aloud; started this damn mess with an unconscious habit. Or had he?

His office was soundproof and security locked. There was no way anything said here would ever effect or influence anyone else. It was his safe place where he could, and often did, rant and rave and scream his frustrations against its protecting walls. It was the only place he had ever allowed himself to do so. He forced himself to face the cold truth. There had been nothing unconscious about what he had done in Jim's cabin. He had intentionally spoken aloud to those sensitive Vulcan ears and had been fully aware of the effect his words might have. But why? Knowing what he knew, why had he done it?

It was all well and good to want something done to relieve Jim's pain but shoving Spock through the door to Jim's psyche, when he knew what Spock could find there, had been about the dumbest thing he had ever done. And, Spock had found it. The look on his face, like he was about two seconds from committing murder, made it clear that he had.

McCoy had been a Jim Kirk watcher for a long time. It had started when he had taken the planet side assignment at the Academy in a vain attempt to keep his marriage from falling apart. Partially because his career in Star Fleet was playing such hell with his personal life, he found himself taking a special interest in studying the social lives of all those brilliant young cadets around him. Even though he wasn't that much older, he surely felt it. A good analogy would have been a cauliflower-eared, has-been pug watching the up and comers spar, trying to guess which ones were going to wind up just like him. Another reason was that playing doctor to such an inordinately healthy and robust population in a very protected environment was really boring and people watching was a better pastime than staring at the walls feeling sorry for himself.

The only answer to his own problem that he found was that he should have fallen in love with a different woman or not fallen in love at all, probably the latter. Oh, he could see the ones that were making the same wrong choice that he had but they were just as blind to it as he had been. Still, it was a subtle line between those that would make it and those that would hit the rocks. It all came down to career goals. Those with their eyes set on deep space that had the need for exclusive relationships were almost assured to fail in one, if not both, of those goals if they persisted in trying to have both. Nor did it seem to make much difference if they were heterosexual, homosexual, male or female.

Ironically, for most of those cadets it wasn't any more of a personal psychological dichotomy than it had been for him. Their yearning for the stars was who they really were. The need for exclusive partnering was social and cultural programming applied with a trowel almost from the day they were born. It wouldn't be until things started blowing up in their face that they would realize this and, by then, it was usually too late. By then, it was a choice between deserting your dreams or deserting your personal obligations.

So he had sat there, vegetating, trying to reconcile himself to his choice, his wife and baby daughter and planet side duty, and fighting the envy he had for those golden ones who didn't seem plagued by the same demons. The most golden of all was a cadet named Jim Kirk. He had the play down pat; dance with all the girls and boys but don't take anyone home from the party. Oh, he wasn't celibate by any means but it was always a short fling with someone just as career oriented as he was and discrete visits to a reputable brothel; fun and games with no strings and no embarrassing complications. The only exception to this had been Kirk's relationship with Gary Mitchell.

At first McCoy had taken it as the usual alpha male buddy bond. The two were always part of a foursome and, while Kirk's partner could be male or female and alien as well as human, Mitchell was always partnered with a human female. Then, six months before their graduation from the Academy, he found out that the relationship between the two was a great deal more complicated than that.

It was another of those 'command appearance', dinner and social functions intended to allow line officers with slots to fill to make a more personal evaluation of the graduating cadets. As usual McCoy was stag which was a good thing. Even though the cadets were supposed to be the main attraction, trying to woo younger members of the staff back into line duty wasn't unheard of. Experienced personnel was hard to find. He had already had several offers including Third Medical Officer on a Constitution Class and CMO on a much smaller Bradbury Class; something that would have made his domestic situation even more tense than it already was had his wife been present to hear them.

As it was, it had opened all his own festering doubts. He had left as soon as it was socially acceptable to do so but couldn't force himself to go home. He had ended up sitting on the ground behind one of the gazebos in the Academy's formal gardens, clutching his knees tight to his chest and trying to deal with his misery. Solitude, surrounded by green growing things, had always helped him before but that night it wasn't working.

Just as he was about to give it up and leave, the rather noisy arrival of a couple in the gazebo cut off any anonymous exit. From the tenor of the laughter he knew it was two men. From the quick cessation of that laughter he knew that they were getting down to some serious snogging. Not really into voyeurism, even audio, he was considering making an embarrassing exit before they got down to even heavier love making when the snogging ended and the talking began. The identities of the two men were immediately revealed and wild horses couldn't have dragged McCoy away.

"Damn, Gary! Not that I mind but you haven't been this horny for months. The only thing that could have broken that nasty snit you've been in would be an interview for a plum slot. So what is it?"

The voice belonged to Jim Kirk. It was Gary Mitchell's voice that replied.

"Oh, it's the plumiest. I've got both of us interviews with Pike for the two command line slots on the Enterprise."

"You what?"

McCoy had never heard Jim Kirk utter an angry word before. The intensity of displeasure that he heard now was just short of deadly. He was amazed that Mitchell didn't seem aware of it.

"Now, don't go off on me until you've heard me out. It's perfect for us. Nothing has to change. As the newbies we'll probably even be quartered together. On top of that, the Enterprise is the queen of the line. We'll have more chances for commendations and fast advancement than on any other ship in the fleet."

There was an almost weary sigh from Kirk.

"We've been over this before, Gary. Being a newbie lost in a crew of four hundred plus isn't my idea of the best way to be noticed for recognition or promotion. But that's not the main reason that I chose to accept the slot on the Gerrard."

Here Mitchell interrupted Kirk with an exasperated snort.

"It sure as hell isn't. It's that damn thing you have for aliens. Shit, Jim, you've heard what they call the Gerrard; Harrison's Zoo. Almost a quarter of her crew are non-human. When are you going to learn that Fleet is just as political as everything else. Staying with your own kind is the only way to make rank, get a cushy Headquarters assignment and retire as a gold-braid. But if you just have to have that kind of thrill, the Enterprise can give it to you in spades. She's got the only Vulcan in Fleet that will lower himself to serve with us uncivilized humans. That's probably because he's a half breed but it's still the closest you'll ever get to serving with one."

This time McCoy could swear that he heard Kirk's teeth grinding in anger.

"SHUT UP, Gary! Just shut up and get away from me. If you say one more word, it's over with us. I'll go straight to the Administration Building and request a change of quarters assignment and I'll tell them exactly why I want one. Now, if I'm right, your xenophobia will be a bad mark on your record. If you're right, that Fleet is just as homophobic as it is xenophobic, then our relationship will be a mark on your record. Either way, I doubt you want to risk your shot at the Enterprise."

This seem to get through to Mitchell. His voice sounded almost submissive.

"Now, come on, Jim. You don't want to do anything like that. ... All right, I got out of line, I admit it, and you've told me where to get off. But, at least go for the interview with Pike. It's not going to look good for me if you don't."

"No. I'm going to decline the interview very politely, giving my prior commitment to the Gerrard as cause. I'll lie this once, say that you didn't know about it, but that is as far as I'll go. To tell the truth, Gary, another reason that I'm taking the Gerrard assignment is that I don't want to serve on the same ship with you. I'm sick and tired of your paranoia about our relationship. It's totally senseless. I've always been open about the variety of my sexual partners and, as you have proven with your invitations to interview with Pike, it hasn't harmed my career chances at all."

Mitchell answered with another derisive snort.

"Maybe not at first. You've got your father's service record and top marks to carry you. But you wait. They'll never give you a command or, if they do, it won't be anything better than a science or support vessel. You'll never see the bridge of anything even close to the Enterprise if you don't take this chance at it and at cleaning up your personal life. Hell, Jim, you don't have to give up anything. You just have to make them think that you have. Just play the game."

To McCoy's ears, the short laugh that Kirk uttered conveyed resigned acceptance of the inevitable and a great deal of pity for Mitchell.

"Sorry, Gary. If the only way to get what I want is to lie about who I am, it isn't worth it. It's time for us to go our separate ways and see who gets to where they want to be first. I'd like us to part friends but you bring up this subject again and we won't. As a friend, I'll tell you that rumor has it that Pike gets along well with his Vulcan officer and it's a good bet that he wouldn't appreciate your attitude toward aliens any more than I do. Now I need some time alone."

McCoy heard Mitchell moving away but Kirk remained in the gazebo. He was certainly a great deal more than McCoy had ever given him credit for being. There was a depth of maturity, integrity and understanding there that was rare in any man, much less one as young as Kirk. McCoy wished that there was some way to approach him on this new level without the fact that he'd been eavesdropping getting in the way. This thought was squelched as the silence was broken by the beeping of his personal communicator.

All the way through the brief but bitter tirade that ended in his wife telling him not to bother coming home until he was ready to give up Star Fleet for good, he found himself more disturbed by the fact that Kirk would be long gone and probably unapproachable if he did run into him later. It didn't turn out quite that way. He rose, brushed himself off and turned to find himself looking into a pair of sympathetic hazel eyes.

"It looks like it's going to be a long night for both of us Dr. McCoy. Could I buy you a cup of coffee in the cadet lounge?"

There had been an instant bond.

"I'll do you one better, Mr. Kirk. A two room suite with a kitchenette, a comfortable bed and an even more comfortable couch comes with my staff position. We'll have coffee and then I'll flip you to see who gets the couch."

There was more coffee and talk that night than sleep. By the end of it, it was 'Bones' and 'Jim' and a lasting friendship had been born. There were many more nights before Jim graduated and left on the Gerrard, There were regular communications and some shore leave visits after that until McCoy gave up, gave his wife a divorce and shipped out again himself. After that the communications were less frequent but still continued until McCoy had received a request through channels from Captain James T. Kirk to accept the post of CMO on the Enterprise.

Mitchell had died in the same incident that had killed the CMO that McCoy replaced. However, the words of the conversation, overheard so long ago, echoed clearly in McCoy's mind as he boarded the Enterprise for the first time. Jim Kirk's path through the ranks of Star Fleet certainly hadn't been the one espoused by Mitchell. In fact, it had been esoteric by any standards. Yet, Jim Kirk was certainly the one who had gotten where he wanted to be first.

But, only as McCoy watched Jim and his new First Officer interacting did he finally understand what a Satan-in-the-wilderness Mitchell had been all those years ago, how close he might have come to tempting Kirk from his chosen path if only Mitchell hadn't been such a xenophobic fool. Only a blind man wouldn't have seen that Jim Kirk was totally fascinated by the Vulcan, personally as well as professionally. However, in McCoy's opinion, only a blind man wouldn't see that trying to be personal with a Vulcan was a no win situation and that for once Jim Kirk was pounding his head against a steel bulkhead that was never going to give. Which, in McCoy's opinion, was a very good thing.

It had been a very slow process but in the end McCoy had to admit that he wasn't any better a soothsayer than Mitchell had been; that he, too, had underestimated the irresistible force of nature that was Jim Kirk. Just as every other challenge had fallen before his determined onslaught, so did Vulcan steel. Nor had Jim been selfish with the hard won treasure. Everyone drawn to the blazing sun of Jim Kirk also experienced and learned to appreciate the calmer, cooler stabilizing companion star that was Spock.

Still, McCoy hadn't understood how deep the connection between Jim and Spock had become until the visit to Vulcan for Spock's aborted marriage. For Spock, Jim had risked losing the one thing that he had never risked for another before, the one thing that McCoy had never thought he could risk losing, his career. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from that. Jim loved Spock as he had never loved another. With his psychological profile and personal history, there was no doubt that Jim would not only have no inhibitions about expressing that love physically but would have to be strongly controlling the urge to do so.

For Spock's part of it, his astonishing show of emotion at finding Jim alive had been only a small thing compared to the real proof of his feeling; a proof that only McCoy, the physician, understood and understood only some time after the fact. Spock had withdrawn from his Pon Farr without mating. McCoy had glossed it over for Jim with some mumbo-jumbo about Spock's mixed heritage but was far from satisfied with that answer himself. He had seen the almost classic Vulcan physiognomy on his own med scanners.

This worried McCoy. Up to that point he had been relying on Vulcan tradition and logic to keep a lid on the situation; to protect Jim Kirk from himself. While McCoy was old fashioned about his own sexuality, same species and male-female, he respected the rights of others to follow their own inclinations. His concern wasn't that they were both male. It wasn't even that Spock was an alien. It was that he was Vulcan. Opposites might attract but two beings so opposite just didn't have much chance of making the lifetime commitment, that Vulcans not only expected but demanded, work. By the time Jim found that out through experience, it was going to be too damn late. It was going to be a tragedy for both of them; Jim trapped or Spock abandoned.

It had taken a lot of digging and study of some very obtusely worded Vulcan texts and histories before McCoy had finally understood what had to have happened during Spock's Pon Farr. Sometime during that gawd-awful fight, Spock had to have formed a bond to replace the one with T'Pring and had to have received sufficient stimulation through that bond to satisfy his emotional and mental needs that were the true initiators of Pon Farr.

That had been a real shocker when McCoy finally understood it. Pon Farr was a mating urge, all right, but not necessarily a physical one. It wasn't so much like going into heat as it was coming of age. Once a Vulcan was mature enough not only physically but also mentally and emotionally to mate the Pon Farr was triggered. If the bond formed was sufficiently satisfying on both the mental and emotional levels, a physical expression of it wasn't always necessary. In fact such physically sterile bondings were quite acceptable. They were not a the top of the preferred list, a fully functional bond that provided offspring, but they were a very long way from the bottom, the forced physical, only for procreation, relationship that Spock would have had with T'Pring.

Once he understood the process, McCoy had to accept that there was only one 'logical' person for Spock to have bonded with; Jim Kirk. For all Vulcan intents and purposes, Spock was not only in love with Jim, he was married to him. The damn marriage just hadn't ever been consummated physically.

This situation had bothered McCoy a great deal, worried the hell out of him, at first but, as time passed without any further complications, he had relaxed. He had actually begun to enjoy the game of catching the two at their naively unconscious love making. Jim was the overt one, of course; the looks, the touches. Spock was more passive; his easy acceptance of those intimacies speaking volumes. It had been a red letter day when McCoy had caught the movement as Spock actually leaned, ever so slightly, into the touch of Jim's hand at the small of his back.

Whatever was going on in Jim's and Spock's minds, they seemed to have reached a level of adjustment that was satisfactory to both of them. Jim went right on with his usual chain of sexual encounters and there were no adverse reactions from Spock. Believing that the bond had settled into one of deep friendship with none of the complications that he had expected, McCoy had gone beyond a relieved acceptance to a peaceful satisfaction that each had found in the other what was needed to fill their personal voids.

Then, this damn incident with the Rayna android had blown Jim's adjustments all to hell and his meddling had done the same for Spock. Now, McCoy was faced with the fact that the whole thing had been nothing but a scabbed over wound that was festering instead of healing.

The more he thought about it the more obvious it became to McCoy exactly what the attraction to the android had been for Jim and just as obvious what had prompted it to come out at just that time. The Enterprise's five-year mission was about to end. The future of everyone aboard her was going to be up for grabs. Promotions and reassignments would be the order of the day. The best crew in the known universe would be broken up and spread throughout Star Fleet to be the leaders, teachers and mentors to a new generation.

It was a sound policy for Star Fleet; one that would spawn many excellent crews from the one. It was a death knell to any partnerships unless one or both parties sacrificed career for personal needs. As personally tragic as this would be for others, the ultimate tragedy was that the uniquely powerful and successful binary system that was James T. Kirk and Spock of Vulcan was going to be torn apart.

While McCoy couldn't fathom what this would mean to Spock, he knew exactly what it would do to Jim. It would cut the soul out of him. So Jim Kirk had gone for a surrogate for what he believed he could never have; a patch for the wound to come. That it would have turned out to be a completely futile and inadequate solution made it even more poignant.

"So what were you trying to do, Leonard? What was your purpose in sending Spock into Jim's mind to remove his memories, his pain, at losing Rayna when you should damn well have known that it was the pain of wanting Spock, himself, that he would find? Were you unconsciously trying to play matchmaker, you damn southern-romantic fool? Trying to be some flitting fairy godmother with her magic wand making the perfect happy-ever-after ending?"

As his words echoed off of the steel bulkheads, McCoy downed his third glass of Bourbon and poured a fourth.

"Well, Leonard, you ain't got no friggin wings, there isn't any such thing as a magic wand and happy-ever-after doesn't exist in the real world. Now, thanks to your interference, Spock will withdraw into that steel shell of his and Jim won't have any idea why. All you've managed to do is make their last few months together a stay in hell. And, you're going to have to watch that! Which serves you fucking right!"

The fourth Bourbon was consumed and a fifth and a sixth.

Then the fabric of time quivered and divided.

On one time line, Dr. Leonard H. (Bones) McCoy passed out. Jim Kirk awakened after a good night's sleep. Mr. Spock kept his secret. Life went on as normal. Hell didn't happen until the end of the five-year mission. Spock abruptly resigned and retreated to Gol to purge himself of all emotion and Jim Kirk, in total misery, accepted the rank of Admiral and was just as effectively dry docked as his ship was.

On another, Dr. Leonard H. (Bones) McCoy, decided that maybe he did have wings and a wand and that maybe, just maybe, happily-ever-after did happen sometimes, if you gave it a chance to. He opened the Enterprise's intra-ship messaging program, typed and sent two messages and, then, passed out. Nothing would be quite the same ever again.

Chapter 3

Jim Kirk stirred, yawned, stretched and came almost instantly awake. A huge smile spread across his face. Damn, he felt good! A quick check of the chrono told him that he had slept almost sixteen hours. Still, it seemed as if there was more to it than that. He couldn't remember waking up feeling this good since he was eight years old and woke to the first day of summer vacation.

He threw off the blanket and sat up to discover that he was still dressed in his uniform, sleeping on top of the bedspread and that the blanket that had covered him was an extra one that rarely left the foot of the bed. Only his boots were missing. Turning to sit on the side of the bed, he found those boots. They were standing at attention, very conveniently at hand, in very precise alignment; too precise an alignment for him to have put them there. One could even call it an inhumanly precise alignment.

He searched his memory. The last thing recorded there was talking to Spock and then laying his head on his desk in a fugue of total mental and physical exhaustion. The obvious conclusion was that Spock had carried him to his bed, removed his boots, covered him with the blanket and taken the steps necessary to see to it that nothing or no one disturbed him.

He found this so intimate and caring scenario both extremely pleasant and extremely disturbing. The thought that, if he had just woke up at the right moment, he could have so easily reached out and drawn Spock down to him, tasted those forbidden lips, had that deceptively slim, strong body pressed against his, made his breath catch and his cock harden. The thought that such an attempt would almost certainly have destroyed the relationship that they did have was so painful that it threatened to ruin the feeling of well being that he had awakened with.

He was long past lying to himself about what he felt for the Vulcan. Yes, it was the deepest of friendships; a need to have Spock by his side always and forever. But, it was much more than that. He also wanted him in his arms and in his bed always and forever. If Jim Kirk was his father's son in his desire for the stars, he was his mother's son in this. His heart and soul had finally found their home and, no matter how difficult, how impossible, that choice was, there would be no changing it. He might bed, even wed, a thousand but he would always yearn for that one and never find anything but momentary release with any other.

His mind began to bounce back and forth, as it had ever since he stopped lying to himself; to keep what he had, Spock's unlimited friendship and loyalty, or risk all for the impossibly minute chance that Spock would take him as his bondmate. He had done his research. He knew that, even though Vulcans were able to perform sexually at all times after their first Pon Farr, there couldn't be anything casual with a Vulcan; no physical union without the mental one. That had scared the shit out of him in the beginning; driven his yearning for the physical deep within his mind. But it wouldn't stay there.

He hadn't been able to understand that. He had always been able to control his sexual urges. If the being he had the hots for was an inappropriate target, that was the end of it. Then Spock had melded with him for the first time and he began to understand. The touch of that brilliant, gentle and so honorable mind, radiating understanding and acceptance of all that he was, dark and light, had undone him. His wet dreams about the Vulcan, that had all but disappeared, had returned with a vengeance with the memory of the meld as their focus. It hadn't taken long for him to realize that this was what he had been searching for in every tryst and affair; in every strange bed that he had awakened in feeling empty and left still searching.

His immediate reaction had been his usual 'go for broke'. But the more research and planning that he did to seduce the Vulcan, the more aware he became of the odds against his success. It had finally come down to a very high probability that, if he didn't settle for what he had with Spock already, he would lose him completely; a thought that gave him some of the worse nightmares he had ever had; nightmares as bad as those he had experienced after Tarsus IV and the mass murders ordered by the colonial governor Kodos, Kodos the Executioner, that he had witnessed there. In fact, the two often merged into one surreal scenario from which he awakened to his own screams. Only when he had forced himself to accept that what was between Spock and himself was all there could ever be had they stopped.

Now, the points and counter points were threatening to begin battle again. He forced them away. It was the same old argument that he had had with himself a thousand times. Going over it one more time wouldn't do anything but make him miserable again. There wasn't any different answer for it now than there had ever been. He was an emotional human and Spock was a logical Vulcan. That Sarek had chosen a human mate offered no encouragement, just the opposite. Spock had spent his whole life living with the negative consequences of that aberration of his father's. The odds were nil that he would repeat it, much less repeat it with the added onus of non-procreation in a homosexual union.

With a physical and mental shake of his head, Jim headed for a shower and fresh uniform. It was time to see what condition his ship was in and find out how high the stack of paper work he needed to catch up on had become while he was asleep. Though he usually hated the red-tape and official-speak of such reports, the aggravation came in handy to block his thoughts about Spock when they became too intense.

The shower felt wonderful. The sluice of warm water over his body, the complimentary smells of his body soap and shampoo, the silky feel of them; it seemed that every sense, every nerve ending had become super-sensitive to pleasure. Memories of the touch of Spock's fingers on his face during the melds they had shared came to him; warm, silky touch of Spock's fingers and the spicy scent of him; the secure refuge of his ordered thoughts. His hands stopped washing and began caressing as images of Spock filled his mind. Then, the feel of cold tile against his back broke his reverie and he found himself clutching his aroused cock and panting with need.

He flipped the temperature control to full cold and stood under the icy needles until he was limp and shivering. Toweling quickly, he dressed and hurried to his desk and the terminal that would supply him with something else to occupy his mind. To his amazed shock, the 'reports pending' folder was empty. The damn thing was never empty! Digging further, he found that all his official 'pending' folders were empty and his duty schedule was cleared for the rest of today and tomorrow as well. It seemed that his overly efficient First Officer had not only arranged for his sleep to be undisturbed but had also put him on a forty-eight hour vacation.

The thought that he should be irritated at this briefly flitted across Jim's mind but, in his relaxed state, playing hooky for a day or two didn't sound so bad. He had purchased several books his last shore leave that he hadn't even opened yet and he owed letters to both his mother and his nephew. He found himself quite content to relax for a few hours before once again facing duty and decisions.

Then, flipping to his personal files, he noticed the blinking signal that announced the presence of a intra-ship message in his inbox. With the thought that it was probably an invitation from Spock for an exercise session or dinner and a chess game, he punched it on screen. It wasn't from Spock. It was from Bones.

_Jim,_

_One: You're a damn fool!_

_Two: Spock is just as much in love with you as you are with him._

_Three: There isn't a friggin thing in Vulcan law or tradition against you two being bonded._

_Four: Get off of your damn butt and do something about it before you lose the best thing you ever had._

_Bones._

_P.S. Ask him what he made you forget._

_P.P.S. Don't blame him for it. It was all my stupid idea._

For a long moment, Jim stared at the screen in stunned confusion. His first reaction was a certainty that Bones had been drunk when he wrote the message. His good mood faded fast. While Bones could tie one on with the best on shore leave, he had never, to Jim's knowledge, allowed himself to become more than socially tipsy while on board ship. That would cover the phrasing, the curse words and the multiple postscripts but sending such extremely personal subject matter through the low security messaging system wouldn't have happen unless he was totally smashed.

What in the hell was going on ...!

He re-read the message carefully. The enumerated items were nothing new just stated emphatically rather than hinted at. It was the postscripts that shook him. There was suddenly a reason for his inordinately long sleep and extraordinarily good mood; a reason that put a cold knot of anxiety and anger in the pit of his stomach. As impossible as it was to believe, the evidence was indisputable. Spock, the paragon of Vulcan virtue and ethics, had gone mucking around in his mind uninvited! Added to it, Bones, who had always espoused an almost paranoid distrust of the 'Vulcan hoodoo' of melding, admitted to having aided and abetted him in it!

"Ask him what he made you forget."

A man was his mind, his memories. His knowledge of and belief in who and what he was were the only things anyone had to hang on to when everything else went to hell. They had fucked with his! They had made him forget something and, if it hadn't been for McCoy's guilt pushing him into a drunken binge, he would never have known it. He would have gone blindly on with his life not knowing that a piece of him was missing. Cold chills rolled over him and his gut clenched.

In testament to Jim's trust in the two, the first thought that broke through the effects of the horrendous violation was that they had to have had a good reason for their actions. His second thought, as anger began to replace shock, was that they had damn well better have an extremely good reason. Following on its heels was a fervent prayer that the reason was good enough for him to forgive them. He punched up the duty roster to find out where the two were at present.

McCoy was logged-in in the infirmary. Spock was listed as being in his quarters. Though Spock was much the closer target, there was no way Jim was going to have a face off with him until he had as much information as it was possible to get from the easier source. He printed out a copy of the message, deleted it and took a few deep breaths to calm himself before exiting his quarters and heading for the infirmary. It wouldn't do to let the whole crew know that their Captain, their First Officer and their CMO were about to have a serious, personal and, almost assuredly, heated altercation.

Jim entered the infirmary to find a very worried looking Christine Chapel. She jumped up and rushed to meet him before he was hardly inside the room.

"Oh, Captain, I'm so glad to see you. Maybe you can do something with him. He just sits there looking absolutely awful. He's … he's … he didn't even grouse about it when Nurse Allen gave him the test results on the wrong patient ……… twice! But, he almost bit my head off when I tried to take his vitals. He's probably right that it is nothing serious but he was on that planet and standard medical procedure requires testing to be certain of that."

Jim didn't have to ask who she was talking about.

"You can relax Nurse Chapel. I'll be very happy to see that Dr. McCoy does everything necessary to correct his condition."

From the slightly startled widening of Christine's eyes, he realized that he must have let some of his anger show. He gave her one of his most persuasive smiles.

"It's nothing to worry about, Christine. Bones has just been working himself too hard. Now, log him off duty per Captain's orders and trust me to take care of the problem. You just see that no one disturbs us while I talk to him."

That smile had never failed him and now was no exception. With a pleased expression she waved him toward McCoy's office and sat down at her desk; becoming an impenetrable barrier to anyone attempting to interrupt his visit. But, the encounter had given Jim something to think about. Instead of instantly confronting McCoy, he retained the smile, sauntered easily into the office, shut the door behind him and lounged comfortably in the visitor's chair. When McCoy looked at him, the squinty, bloodshot eyes confirmed Jim's suspicion of the cause of his 'illness'. McCoy was suffering from a hangover, a lulu of a hangover.

"Damn, Bones, you look like hell. Is something wrong?"

Jim had purposefully spoken louder than normal. McCoy squiched his eyes and his brow furrowed deeply from pain but he didn't respond as he usually would have with a growled request for Jim to speak softer. Instead, his voice was close to apologetic.

"No, nothing wrong. I ... I just didn't sleep very well last night, that's all."

Jim kept up his cheerful facade.

"Well, I had the best sleep I've had in a long time. Woke up feeling like a kid again. If I knew why, I'd share it with you."

McCoy winced and a guilty blush began creeping up his neck. He was one southern gentleman who should never allow himself to be suckered into a game of poker. He tried to cover but his voice didn't match the joke.

"As good as you're looking, if we could bottle it, we could retire on the profits."

Jim had had enough of the game. He reached across the desk and engaged McCoy's privacy and security locks and let the facade fade.

"You can drop the act, Bones. I got your message. If you think that suffering through your hangover without anti-tox is some kind of penance, let me tell you, it isn't even a good start at it."

McCoy looked like a deer caught in the headlights. His voice was a croaking squeak.

"My ... my message?"

There was no way that McCoy could be faking his reaction. He must have been so drunk he didn't remember sending the message. Jim brought out the printout, unfolded it and laid it carefully on the desk in front of him. He waited while McCoy stared at it a lot longer than necessary to read it. Whether he was having trouble reading it with his bleary eyes or having trouble absorbing its contents was up to question. His reaction, when it finally came, wasn't. He slumped over the desk, his head in his hands, and groaned with pure misery.

"Oh, God, no ... no."

When he looked up, the pain and guilt in his eyes was almost more than Jim could take.

"God, Jim. I'm so sorry."

McCoy's voice broke and he dropped his head into his hands again. Jim suddenly felt his anger draining away and only the sadness and pain of betrayal was left. All he wanted to do was find out what had happened, get it set right and crawl into a hole somewhere to lick his wounds.

"Bones, get an anti-tox hypo and pull yourself together. Then, you're going to tell me exactly what you and Spock did to me."

McCoy raised his head and opened his mouth to speak but Jim didn't give him the chance.

"No. Get the hypo and have someone get a big pot of coffee and two cups. I don't want to hear anything until you do that. Then, I only want to hear the facts. Nothing else."

McCoy half stumbled getting out of his chair and Jim realized that he couldn't let Chapel see him in that condition.

"Stop. Just sit down and keep quite. I'll get the hypo and coffee."

Christine didn't question his request for the medication. If anything, she looked relieved and was delighted to fetch the coffee, herself. By the time he had given Bones the hypo, saw to it that he used it and returned to the outer office, she was back with a tray containing not only a big thermal carafe of coffee but two double servings of orange juice and a large selection of sweet rolls as well. The inclusion of the large amount of orange juice made Jim fairly certain that she knew exactly what was wrong with her boss and had been playing dumb to protect him.

The woman was a natural born mother hen. This was a very good trait for a nurse or a doctor but, personally, Jim found such 'fussing' irritating. However, since his stomach growled in appreciation at the sight of the rolls and the anti-tox would work faster on McCoy with the help of some calories, he couldn't fault her for it this time.

After setting the tray down, he poured coffee for McCoy and placed it, both orange juices and three of the sweet rolls in front of him. Bones was looking a little better but the hypo wouldn't do it all. Jim made sure that his expression left no room for the man to argue about eating and drinking what had been set before him.

As they ate in silence, Jim decided that it hadn't been really necessary. Bones seemed grateful for the time it gave him to pull his thoughts together. He even fingered up the last crumbs of the rolls before he looked up at Jim and reluctantly began to speak. But, his first words weren't what Jim had expected.

"Jim, what do you remember about what happened on Flint's planet?"

His first thought was to ignore the question and tell Bones that they were here for him to talk and Jim to listen and only about what he and Spock had done, not about anything else. In fact, he found that he was becoming irritated that the subject of Flint and his planet had even been brought up. The damn plague and the need for Flint's ryetalyn had been a pain in the ass complication and didn't need to be rehashed. His having to pretend attraction and romance an android to get the medication had been embarrassing; a stupid and illogical episode that was best forgotten.

The second this thought formed, Jim's alarms went off. Any capacity he had for embarrassment, if he had ever had the capacity, had died a long time ago; most especially when it came to doing what had to be done to accomplish a mission such as acquiring the ryetalyn. If such actions caused harm to another being, as the destruction of the android had caused pain to Flint, he could feel regret, even sorrow, but not embarrassment.

In fact, he, of all people, should have felt a great deal of sympathy for the man's search for a companion. He certainly should not be feeling irritation at the illogic of his method and anger at his involving Jim, using him. Self-pity, petty self-pity, was what it felt like and that wasn't something he ever allowed himself. But, what if that irritation and anger wasn't his?

An image of Spock's face came to him; eyes filled with anxiety and warning. It didn't fit with the rest of his memories. Neither did the memory of his emotional state when he had fallen asleep across his desk. He forced himself past his reluctance.

"Bones, I think you had better tell me your version of it."

When McCoy had finished, Jim was almost as stunned as he had been after reading the intra-ship message. It was impossible. It couldn't be true. Yet, something deep inside told him that it could be.

"Why, Bones? We've met androids before; damn good looking ones. It was never more than a game. Hell, it's never been more than a game for me even with people. It doesn't fit and I walk way, lick my wounds and life goes on. Why was this time different? What made you think that I couldn't survive without having my mind played with?"

He watched as McCoy straightened in his chair and pushed back from the desk. It was as if he was preparing himself to duck or run.

"Because there is finally one that isn't a game and you are about to lose him. So, you went for a replacement."

Anger flashed through Jim. If McCoy hadn't made it so clear that he was expecting it, he might have hit him.

"That's sick! I can't have Spock so I'm going to get me some mechanical blow-up doll? You're out of your mind! I've made it clear a hundred times that whatever I feel for Spock is not up for discussion. I've handled it and that's all there is to it. My God! Don't tell me you told him this hair-brained theory! Is that how you convinced him to break every rule he has and meld with me while I was unconscious!"

McCoy seemed to collapse into himself. He suddenly looked tired and beaten and so much older than he ever had before.

"I did worse than that, Jim. I knew he couldn't stand to let you suffer if there was a way to stop it and I gave him a way. He would never have believed me if I had just told him how you feel about him so I sent him into your mind to see it for himself."

Jim was like a drowning man clutching at a straw. McCoy couldn't be right about this. If he hadn't said anything to Spock then things could still be all right. If Spock had gone into his mind to alter his memories about the android, that would have been all he would have done. His code of honor wouldn't have allowed him to go any deeper. But, what if Bones was right? What if everything that he had gone through up to now to keep his real feelings secret was undone? He sank back into his chair feeling just as bad as McCoy looked.

"Damn you, Bones. Damn you, if you've done that. I had it under control. I would have found a way to keep us together; gotten another five-year mission for the Enterprise or maybe taken the captain's slot on a science vessel. They would have given him one for any pet project he named. You know that. Hell, I'd have even taken a posting to Vulcan if I had to.

"I think you're wrong about all of this but I'm in no position to trust what I think right now because I can't be sure that my memories are really my own. The only thing that I can do about that is to accuse Spock of melding with me while I was unconscious and demanding that he undo what ever he did. Then, I'm going to have to deal with his reaction to that before I can even think about his reaction to the rest of it. I don't have any idea how I'm going to do any of that but I do know that the first thing is to get your copy of that message deleted and double check that it has cycled out of the central queue.

McCoy hesitated. Jim's anger flashed again.

"I said delete it! Now, Mister!"

As McCoy fumbled with the key board he made a pained explanation.

"I can delete my copy but I don't know what that 'central queue' is."

Jim answered with an exasperated snarl.

"The central queue keeps a copy of any message for twenty-four hours so that you can see if it has been received and redirect it if you need to. Just highlight the message and click 'CQ Del'. Anybody can read anyone's intra-ship messages until they cycle out. When are you going to learn how things work? Any first-year midshipman knows ..."

His mini tirade was halted by the sudden pallor that turned McCoy's face into a death mask; eyes frozen to the screen, hands dead on the key board. Jim rose and circled the desk to peer at the screen. There had been two messages sent. The second was to Spock.

He didn't even try to decide what he felt. He was beyond feeling. Reaching around McCoy and without reading it, he printed the second message, checked the CQ to find that it had been received and then deleted both messages from the CQ and McCoy's files. As he sat back down, the still unread message clutched in his hand, he thought about telling McCoy to break out the bottle again. Looking up he found McCoy had returned to his over the desk, head in hands abject misery. No, alcohol wasn't a good idea now any more than it had been before. He forced himself to read the printout.

_Spock, _

_You're the most selfish bastard that I have ever known. _

_You've got what you need from your bond with Jim. When are you going to give him what he needs?_

_And don't give me any crap about what bond! This little old country doctor isn't as stupid as you think. I got the low down and dirty on all of it._

_Don't believe it? Check out file: HOODOO, password: earwax. _

_It's all there, you sanctimonious liar, in Vulcan and Standard. The only reason that Jim is suffering is your damnable Vulcan pride. _

_Well, you're not going to get away with it anymore. I'm telling him just what a low life his precious Vulcan is. _

_It was a shotgun wedding, Spock, but it saved your life. Now, by damn, you're going to make it right by him._

Jim had an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh. If Bones had gone off the deep end with his ideas about the android, he had surpassed even that now. A bond between him and Spock? Oh, they had some sort of link. That he couldn't deny. But bonded? Not touching but always touching? Apart but never parted? That was impossible. He would have known. Wouldn't he?

He wanted nothing so much as to go back to his quarters and forget about the whole thing. But he couldn't do that. He had to talk to Bones, find out where he had gone so wrong in his thinking, prove it to him and make him apologize to Spock. Thirty minutes later, after a lot of talk and reading several excerpts from Bones' file, he was beginning to seriously doubt that it was impossible.

The telling fact was that, if Spock was Vulcan enough to go into Pon Farr, he was Vulcan enough to die of it without a bond. His human genes might have helped prevent the need for the sexual part of it but not the need for the bond itself. Nor, could Jim, any more than Bones, offer any viable candidate for that bond other than himself.

"Damn it all, Jim. He can barely tolerate an accidental touch or one necessary in an emergency from anyone else but he lets you touch him ...…. constantly ... and he enjoys it. In a Vulcan, that screams 'BONDED' in capital letters."

In the end, there was only one option left to him. Jim was going to have to face Spock. But, he wasn't going to do that until he was as prepared as he could be. Now that the confrontation he had struggled so hard to avoid was forced on him, he was going to fight it to win. He needed all the information he could get on how to keep himself from being divorced.

"Bones, what do you have in those files about that challenge thing. The Kali-fi wasn't it? And look for anything else about how bonds can be dissolved."

Bones was a man resurrected. He went at this search with real gusto. It didn't take long for Jim to realize that Bones thought he was looking for a way out for Jim. That suited Jim just fine. After reading the message to Spock, he had the suspicion that Bones wouldn't be nearly so thorough if he knew Jim's real purpose.

As he began to assimilate the information Bones was feeding him and to make his plans for the assault on Spock's defenses, he found himself resurrected as well. The waiting, just holding his ground as best he could, was over. All the chips were on the table and it was 'go for broke'. But, his goal was much closer to his grasp than he had ever thought it could be. Holding on to ground already taken, a bond already formed, was a lot easier than talking Spock into initiating one.

Jim Kirk felt the high ground under his feet, the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. He felt even better than he had when he woke up.

Chapter 4

Once Spock had returned to his meditation, it had taken only 1.23 hours to reach a state of acceptance for his chosen path to Gol. 36.2 minutes later, it took McCoy's message only 1.4 seconds to blow it all to hell.

A quick check of the central queue revealed that a second message had been transmitted from the doctor's terminal in close proximity to the one received by Spock. Noting that it was sent to Jim Kirk and had already been delivered to his terminal, Spock read it. He then considered the options available.

It would be a simple matter to remove all traces of both messages from the main system and all terminals involved. However, due to the extreme emotionality of both messages, the probability was quite high that Dr. McCoy would pursue the issue in person should his messages not elicit a response. While the message to Kirk would require dealing with the problem of the previous night's meld, it had not claimed the presence of a bond, only stated that one would not be legally or culturally prohibited.

Spock concluded that the best course would be to deal with the matters as they were already stated in that message rather than provoke further action on the doctor's part. He blocked access to the queue copies by anyone other than Kirk, McCoy or himself and then turned his attention to the particulars of the message to himself.

His first thought was that the doctor, aside from being extremely insulting, was, of course, grossly mistaken. It was true that Spock had formed a link with the Captain, at his request, to facilitate their ability to coordinate during dangerous situations. However, this was in no way a bond of the sort that McCoy was claiming it to be. Was it? Nor could it have had anything to do with the cessation of his Pon Farr. The exertion of the battle with Jim and the double shocks of thinking that he had killed him and then finding him alive had been quite sufficient for that. Hadn't they?

Spock was also quite certain that he had never used even this limited connection to derive any sort of personal satisfaction at the detriment of Jim Kirk. Yes, he used it to check his welfare or location at times other than those involving emergencies, in fact did so on quite a regular basis, but nothing that could be misconstrued to be the psychic vampirism that he was being accused of. Could it?

He found himself becoming uncustomarily irritated at the traditional secrecy surrounding his own heritage that left him vulnerable to such questions. It was true that his circumstance seemed unique; traditionally, nothing beyond a meld was ever initialized without the participation of a healer; but there were always exceptions to tradition, even among Vulcans, and those situations that prompted such exceptions would not be likely to be such that a healer would be available. Limiting all but the most rudimentary knowledge of the mechanism of such an important part of the Vulcan psyche to healers was not logical.

Putting his irritation aside, he focused on the one absolute falsehood in the message; the implication that he had ever thought of the human as stupid. Dr. McCoy could be emotional beyond even the lax, human limits of acceptability but the quality of his intellect was not to be questioned. When he applied himself to a subject he was always most diligent and meticulous about it. If Dr. McCoy had erred it was of the highest probability that faulty translation was the cause.

Spock opened the file designated in the message and began to study both the Vulcan and the Standard versions of each document. The range and depth of the information they contained astounded him. While it was true that McCoy qualified as a healer, he was not Vulcan. Spock was at a loss to understand how he had managed to get his hands on such detailed medical, psychological and sociological texts. Fascinating.

3.27 hours later, Spock was facing the undeniable truth that Dr. McCoy was completely accurate in his assessment of the situation, as it existed at present. The only error that the human had made was in his assessment of what the situation had been in the past. The connection between Jim Kirk and himself had never been anything other than a bond.

The problem of the unilateral meld suddenly shrank to insignificance.

The term 'link', as used commonly in the translations to refer to non-sexual, pre-adult bonds as between parent and child or teacher and pupil, was a semantic deception; one that Spock, in his ignorance, had shared with the humans. It gave the impression that there was some state greater than the meld and its required physical contact but less than an actual bonding. There was no such state.

The distinction in the bonds was a matter of the relationship between the two parties and the level of maturity of those parties. Jim Kirk and he had been bonded from the instant their 'link' was formed. Because they were both adults and both emotionally and, as lately revealed, sexually attracted to each other, it had indeed developed into a mating bond; most likely during the Pon Farr. It had also been, as the doctor so emphatically stated, the reason for his surviving that state.

That was perhaps the most disturbing fact of all. Less developed bonds such as parent/child, teacher/pupil and even the immature, unfulfilled mating bond that had existed between T'Pring and himself were easily broken with little distress or damage to either party unless some other factor, such as Pon Farr, was involved. It was for that reason that parent/child and teacher/student bonds were terminated well before the child approached the age of maturity. An adult bond strong enough to have succored him during Pon Farr, without the usually essential sexual component, was a uniquely complex bond and would be most difficult and hazardous to dissolve.

Such a dissolution could not be considered without utilizing the services of an extremely strong and knowledgeable healer. There was also little doubt that it would require a replacement bonding for himself to insure not only his sanity but also his life should it provoke a relapse into Pon Farr; a highly likely result. What would be required to insure Jim Kirk's mental stability was a very serious question for which he had no answer.

He was relieved to discover, however, that his intention to enter the disciplines of Gol would not have had the same level of hazard. It would have been a slow withering of the bond that would have allowed time for adjustment for both of them and mastery of the factors that initiated Pon Farr for him. Such adjustment would have been an extremely disturbing and painful process but it should have not been threatening to life or sanity for either of them. This process still remained a viable possibility if Jim would agree to it. Taking another as bondmate was something Spock did not believe he could force himself to do other than in the direst circumstance.

Spock could not deny that, now that he was aware that the bond was a reality, he did not want it dissolved. However, that decision was not his to make. It was Jim Kirk's. They had both been innocent of the consequences when it was formed but, now, he was not. Were he to allow the situation to continue without taking pains to insure that Jim was equally as knowledgeable, McCoy's colloquialism, shotgun wedding, would be accurately applicable. He was also quite sure that, once he was knowledgeable, Jim would not wish to continue the bond.

As concerned as he had been upon receipt of McCoy's message, he had to admit now that it was actually very propitious. To have continued blindly, without knowledge of the true nature of their bond, could have done irreparable damage to both Jim Kirk and himself. The immediately more difficult confrontation and resolution were preferable to the possibility of extreme difficulty in future. The question now - what was the best method for initializing that confrontation under the least adversarial circumstances?

Reviewing his large accumulation of knowledge concerning Jim Kirk, Spock finally decided that a Jim Kirk taken by surprise was the worse possible scenario. He could be totally unpredictable, unreasonable and illogical in such circumstances. The best outcome would result from allowing him the time necessary to become aware of, absorb and process the situation and come to a considered decision. With such would come the calm mental state that would be necessary for Spock to inform him of the full, quite serious, ramifications of continuing the bond and a discussion of the options for dissolving it. Opening a file of recent research to occupy himself, Spock composed his thoughts to patiently wait until Jim Kirk was ready to initiate the discussion of the problem.

They didn't stay composed. In barely 26.7 minutes, he found his focus on the research failing. He was feeling extreme mental discomfort. His search for the source of this was quickly answered. Since becoming aware of the true nature of his connection to Jim Kirk, he had very scrupulously set his shields to insure that the bond was completely closed and remained so. The bond's struggles against his shielding had now reached a level of open warfare.

Kaiidth! What is, is. He relaxed his control to normal strength and observed the experience as the bond opened again to what must have been its usual level of functioning. The essence that was Jim Kirk enfolded him, settling in with accustomed ease; a low level murmur so habitual to his mental environment that it had become noticeable only in its absence, much as the beat of his own heart and the sound of his own breath. Somewhere deep within himself, Spock sensed a certainty that the heat and vibrancy of that essence was very close to being as essential to him as his heart beat and breath were.

It was the ultimate proof that Dr. McCoy had been quite correct in his accusation that Spock was getting what he needed from the bond; just as Jim Kirk's dream had proven the accusation that Jim was not. The only small consolation for Spock was the fact that the contact contained only emotional and sensory information and did not invade the higher brain functions. It would have been unconscionable if he had been violating Jim's privacy to that extent.

Honor demanded that he once again close the bond completely. It was not logical to do otherwise since that would almost certainly increase the negative effects of ending the bond. Even so, this was quite probably the only truly desired bond he would ever have. Before, he had had no conscious awareness and, too soon, it would be gone. He was suddenly determined to experience what he could of it.

Placing an alert on the messages in the queue and on the file that would sound on his terminal should anyone access them, he retired to his sleeping niche. Stretching out on his bed, he relaxed his body and allowed himself to become immersed in the diverse and wondrous textures and flavors that were his bondmate; but so much more than that.

He had read the pre-reform writings assigned by his teachers, including those of the Warrior Poets. In childish fantasies, he had yearned for the ultimate oneness that poetry spoke of; of the like to like bond of the Ahkhinahru; the bonding of equals, of mirror souls, understanding and accepting each other as no one else would ever be capable of doing. It was a fantasy that spoke to the heart of a child who could not remember having ever found understanding in any being other than a pet Sehlat. But the Way of the Warrior no longer existed for Vulcans and such fantasies were unacceptable. To be a warrior was unacceptable to all of Vulcan. To be a Sa-ka-ashausu and, thereby, without progeny was unacceptable for the only child of Sarek. He had been forced to put his fantasies away with all other childish things.

Yet, now, he was the First Officer of the most powerful warship in either Human or Vulcan history and he was bonded to her Captain. Later, he would do what he must. For this short space of time, he would have at least this minute taste of what that lonely child had dreamed of. The ancient word came easily to his lips. He whispered it softly.

"T'hy'la"

Spock experienced the rich increase in the quality of the bond as the healing sleep he had induced in Jim slowly converted to a normal one. He relaxed into the sensations; allowed himself to take unashamed pleasure in them. It was a symphony of sensation; warmth …. peace ……. energy …… joy …… and strength; such a wondrous strength of identity and will. He had known, intellectually, the attributes that were Jim Kirk but to experience it to his core, as a part of himself, was a difference beyond description. How could that weak, sterile, cold connection he had with T'Pring have been labeled with the same name?

Then, he absorbed and studied the phenomenal differences that were not unique to Jim Kirk but Human, as a whole. Even on this basic level, it was a new universe of existence. He experienced an epiphany of understanding for his father's choice of his human mother as bondmate. With it came icy disdain for a man who could enjoy such a union and yet strive so intensely to eradicate the results of it in his son. Spock became determined that, no matter the outcome of the present situation, there would be a reckoning; if for nothing more than the insult it had been to the Lady Amanda.

Spock was drawn away from those thoughts and back to the bond as its stimulation increased even further as Jim Kirk awakened. Perhaps his concentrating on the bond made more of this than there was but he still found it almost unbelievable that he had not been consciously aware of its existence before. But then, who is consciously aware of his heart beat unless it falters?

Suddenly, there was something new in it; a need, a greater heat; spikes of physical and emotional intensity. Spock felt his shielding tighten automatically, shutting the bond almost completely; dampening the flow of sensation to levels as low as during the healing sleep. What was happening? What was his mind defending itself against? What could there be in Jim Kirk that he would fear?

Forcing the bond open, Spock experienced a physical reaction to the new stimuli. It was as if he shared the heat and need. But, just as he began to analyze it for a definition of the need, the stimuli faded. He was still considering this occurrence when he heard the sound of the shower in Jim's lavatory and another new sensation entered the bond. Ahhhhhh …… so that was what Humans experienced from such contact with water. Their preference for it, over sonics, for cleansing and their propensity to include it in recreational activities was now understandable. That they retained such a close connection between themselves and the origin of their life form was almost enviable.

Spock became completely intrigued with the so un-Vulcan experience, forcing the bond open even further. To facilitate the process he allowed his own body to physically translate the stimuli into Vulcan equivalents. Whether it was the parts of his genetics that were Human or a greater proof of the compatibility of the Vulcan and Human species, he found his body responding eagerly, having no difficulty whatsoever duplicating the cellular euphoria of Jim's body. Then, he once again began to experience the strange heated need that had faded so abruptly before.

His body immediately identified what his mind had not had time to analyze. His genitals stirred. His penis became erect and his gonads tightened. Further reactions were the quickening of his breathing and heart rate and an increase in skin temperature. Aside from these physical reactions, there was a mental one. With frightening speed, his consciousness was drawn into the bond; through it; into the higher functions of Jim's mind. Jim's thoughts were open to him and images flooded him; images of himself.

He was frozen with awe at the clarity of those images. They weren't some paragon, some idealized fantasy. The positives were perhaps a little brighter, the negatives not so dark as he perceived himself but very much the reality of him. And, Jim Kirk was filled with wanton need ………… for that flawed reality.

T'hy'la.

Later, he would question whether or not he struggled against perpetrating this invasion but now it seemed as if he were trapped, held; helpless against the strength of will and desire Jim was experiencing. He found that desire stabbing deep into him, twisting and turning, seeking his own desire for Jim. His body twisted, lifted from the bed; taunt, arched and burning with need.

If he hadn't struggled sufficiently to keep his consciousness from rushing through the bond, he did struggle now to keep his rampant emotional and physical demands from following it; struggled to keep Jim unaware of his presence. He was losing the battle until an unpleasant cold broke Jim's concentration.

Spock snapped back into himself. As he closed the bond completely, he felt the first shock of the icy deluge Jim was using to control his arousal. Lacking this physical method, Spock began the mental discipline necessary to control his own. It was many long, uncounted minutes before he was able to do that.

Once his control was reestablished, Spock began the process of analyzing the event. He had certainly assuaged his curiosity as to what he had instinctually feared concerning Jim Kirk. He found it quite logical that he had feared it. The few previous occasions of his experiencing sexual arousal had all been due to a loss of mental control. Always, something had short-circuited, subverted, his ability to consciously direct his actions. Such loss of self-determination was the greatest of Vulcan fears. It was quite certainly the reason that he had not allowed himself to be aware of the bonding and equally the reason that he had not allowed himself to feed Jim the same nurturing, comforting stimuli that he had received from him.

But that had not been the case here. His feelings of helplessness and the lack of success in his struggle against it had been a matter of inexperience and his own basic desire to not escape the situation. It had been neither the madness of Pon Farr nor the drugged ennui of the spores. It had been closest to the time displacement induced loss of inhibition he had felt with Zarabeth but limited to the one area rather than a universal return to pre-reform rapaciousness. The reality of sexual arousal within the bond had been so different from what he had expected it to be that he now found it all together desirable rather than something to be avoided.

This analysis also elicited the conclusion that another of his fears, a conscious one this time, might have been groundless. Since the Pon Farr, Jim Kirk had not been celibate. He had taken other lovers while the bond was a full mating bond and Spock had not rushed blindly to savage the third party. His subconscious had constructed a method for dealing with the situation that had prevented that. It would not be …….. comfortable ……. to consciously continue to employ that method but it would be possible, under the present circumstances, and therefore possible to keep the bonding without requiring the Vulcan standard of fidelity from Jim. The question was if it would continue to be possible if they entered into a full sexual union. But, that question could not be answered until after the fact. Spock put the thought aside.

With the bond closed, Spock had no knowledge of the state of mind or whereabouts of Jim Kirk. Once again he settled himself to wait. It was not a long wait; 58.7 minutes later the alarm sounded on his terminal. Someone was accessing the queue copies of the messages. Both messages were accessed, the one to him was printed and both were deleted. The terminal and printer used were located in Dr. McCoy's office.

Spock opened the bond minutely and very briefly, discovering that the distance between Jim and himself was sufficient to suggest that he was at that location and was now aware of the full extent of the doctor's opinions. When, very shortly, the alarm he had set on the folder of McCoy's research sounded, he was not surprised. Monitoring the documents that were accessed and printed, it was obvious that McCoy was quite busy convincing Jim of the validity of those opinions.

The flow of printing requests ceased. Spock once again settled himself to wait for Jim to approach him, only to be caught by surprise when, quite quickly, a second flurry of printing requests began. It only took scans of a few of the documents being requested to understand the purpose behind this new research. Jim Kirk was seeking the arguments necessary to force a dissolution of the bond.

Pain. All Spock could feel for many minutes was pain; mental and emotional pain so fierce that it seemed physical. Intellectually, he had always known that this was the way it would be. Logically, it was the only way it could be. These thoughts did nothing to alleviate the anguish that was choking him.

Shutting off the terminal and its continuing flicker of documents, he crossed to the fire pot and knelt before it. His head sagging, chin to chest, he sought the only solace possible. He began to smother all desire for anything but the death-like peace of Gol.

**Notes**:

**Ahkhinahru** - An ancient psionic battlefield warrior. The elite of the ancient Warriors, they were dedicated professional soldiers who abstained from all other allegiances, bonding only with fellow Ahkhinahru. Though their violent vocation is anathema to post-reform Vulcan, their dedication, absolute loyalty and renowned bravery and self-sacrifice are still respected. Many of their love poems are considered esthetic masterpieces.

**Sa-ka-ashausu** - male homosexual

(Basic definitions are per the Vulcan Language Institute Dictionary. http/home. )

(Extended definitions are per the author.)

Chapter 5

Jim Kirk finally had all the information he needed. It would take a healer to cut the bond and no healer would do that on request if either he or Spock didn't want it cut. That left only the Kali-fi or the Haishaya-na'to-gav, the Demand for Judgment.

Though the Kali-fi was still accepted as part of the ceremony surrounding a male's first Pon Farr after an arranged bond had been established, it wasn't otherwise. It was also a case of murder/suicide when the bondmates involved were both male since no champions were allowed. Well, suicide if both were Vulcan males. But, since Jim was almost certainly the one who would be murdered, the end result would be the same. The only choice left was to seek the judgment by a triad of impartial, highly trained healers. The judgment would be made on the results of melds by each of the three healers with both Spock and himself.

Jim would have three points against him. He wasn't a Vulcan male with the intrinsic need for the bond or a female with the right to demand impregnation and the social and familial rewards that came with it and neither Spock nor he had intended to form a mating bond in the first place. But, he had one point, a big one, in his favor. Such a natural bond was so rare in modern arrange-everything Vulcan society and such a heavy proof of the suitability of the bondmates that few healers would want to take the risk of messing with it, especially when one of the parties didn't want it messed with. Spock would have to have some very serious objections to offset that.

Not that Jim planned to take things that far. After the scandal T'Pring had made of the Pon Farr a public call for judgment with a human bondmate involved would probably give T'Pau a coronary. At the least, it would be an embarrassment that Jim wasn't willing to create for either Spock or his parents. If Spock really didn't want the bond, he wouldn't hold him to it, no matter how much that hurt.

But, Spock would have to convince him not only that he didn't want it but that his reasons for not wanting it were damn good ones. And, Jim wouldn't be nearly as easy to convince as a triad of impartial judges. He had already decided on his arguments against the ones he had thought of and would have the Judgment thing to bluff with until he could figure out arguments against the ones he hadn't. For it to be a good bluff, he had to sound like he really meant to do it. He might not talk Spock out of ending the bond but he sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Satisfied that he had done all he could to put the odds in his favor, Jim gathered up all the printouts and dumped them into the disposal chute where they were instantly converted into their component atoms. He returned to the desk, poured himself another cup of coffee, snatched the last sweet roll out from under Bones' reaching hand and relaxed back into his chair.

"Stop glowering, Bones. I'll get back on my diet tomorrow. Today, I have to take on an immovable object and I need my strength."

Bones didn't stop glowering.

"You really had me fooled for a while there. But, you know what? You're looking too damn satisfied with yourself. You don't intend to get rid of the bond with Spock at all, do you? All this research we've been doing is so you can figure out how to keep it and use it to get him into your bed, isn't it? Damn it, Jim, I don't appreciate you using me as your pimp!"

McCoy's anger sparked Jim's and he remembered just what had brought on this whole thing. If Bones thought he had been forgiven for his part in the meld caper, he was very mistaken. Bones was a friend, a good friend, but he had really crossed the line with this one. Jim let this show in the hard tone of his reply.

"Funny, I thought you volunteered for that when you sent those messages. Consider it payback for meddling in my relationship with Spock in the first place. Which is something that better never happen again unless you want to be looking for a new posting. The same goes if you ever try to use any of this to push Spock's buttons. Understood?"

McCoy looked shocked and then angry again.

"I was dead drunk stupid when I sent them. But you don't have that excuse for what you're planning to do now. Just look at your track record with relationships, Jim, and then tell me that you have better than one chance in a million of being what Spock is going to expect a bondmate to be. My God, Jim, he's Vulcan. He can't be just another notch on your bedpost. When it all goes to hell, he's going to crack wide open and, then, lord knows what he will do to you through that damn unnatural mind share you're so hot to keep. If you don't think that I know what I'm talking about, you just remember that I'm the one who had a session with that doppelganger of his on the I. S. S. Enterprise. Let me tell you, it was hell and then some and he was just being cool and efficient. What Spock might do in an insane, jealous rage …….. In the name of heaven, Jim, don't do this!"

If McCoy had started this speech in anger, by the end of it he was desperate and close to pleading. He was honestly terrified at what he imagined might happen to Jim. As much as that show of deep concern pleased Jim, the reason for it disappointed him. He set down the half eaten roll and almost full cup of coffee and stood up.

"I think that you're underestimating both of us, Bones. But, I'm dead certain that you're underestimating me. You were right about Spock being the best thing I've ever had. Once you've found that, Bones, you don't need to go looking for it anymore. There won't ever be anything for Spock to be jealous about. And, while we're remembering, you need to think about the fact that I got along with that other Spock just fine while our Spock had to throw my doppelganger into the brig. What frightens you about him, his alien strength, is what I need from him. I need to know that, any time it really counts, I can trust him to tell me 'no' and make it stick. I just hope that this isn't one of those times."

He turned and left without even looking back at McCoy to see what effect his words had on him. It was time to confront Spock. Jim was already settling himself into battle mode. Anything that would distract him, thoughts of McCoy, thoughts of the Enterprise, even his emotional need for Spock was set aside. He was now becoming the cold, calculating, emotionless son-of-a-bitch that had won a hundred battles and was determined to win this one.

When Jim approached Spock's quarters, the door opened immediately for him. He was expected. With this in mind, he was surprised to find the lights on dim and Spock's usual location, the chair at his desk, unoccupied. Then a movement caught his eye and he watched as Spock rose from in front of his fire pot and turned to face him. Jim was shocked. Even in the low light, he could see that Spock looked almost as bad as McCoy had. When Spock spoke, his drawn expression was mirrored in his resigned tone.

"There was no need for your research, Captain. It is not logical to retain the bond between us. I will make no objection to its being dissolved. We need only discuss the best method in which to do that."

Jim took a few seconds to assess the situation. Spock agreed that there was a full bond between them. He was taking the position that it should be cut but there were several reasons to think that wasn't what he really wanted. First, he had admitted to spying, to being aware of the research that had just gone on in Bones' office, and had assumed that Jim didn't want the bond. Spock wouldn't want an unwilling Jim anymore than Jim wanted an unwilling Spock. Second, 'make no objection' was much too passive if Spock wanted to be rid of the bond as well. But, Jim needed to be sure of that. He decided to change the subject and throw Spock off balance.

"We'll talk about that later. Right now, I want to talk about melding with me when I was unconscious. I want to know what you did to my memories and what you are going to do to undo it."

Spock blinked. Pleased with this sign that he had accomplished his purpose, Jim turned, walked over to the desk and sat down in the visitor's chair. Crossing his arms across his chest, he kept his expression severe.

It was an act. Jim had begun to see the meld incident as proof of just how much he had gotten to Spock, emotionally, and wasn't as upset about it as he had been at first. Oh, he wanted his memories set straight, all right, and he wanted Spock's promise that rearranging memories was never going to happen again but he and Spock were going through enough without holding a grudge about the meld, itself. After all, he was here trying to keep a bond that would let Spock into his mind 24 / 7 / 52 for the rest of his life.

Still, that wouldn't keep him from using the incident to put Spock in a position of feeling obligated to make amends for it. You needed every advantage you could get when dealing with someone as stubborn as Spock. Getting him to drop the 'logic' and actually discuss 'needs' and 'desires' could take a great deal of persuasion; a little guilt and obligation couldn't hurt.

Time stretched. Jim was beginning to wonder if Spock was going to wait him out on this when Spock finally spoke.

"As the aggrieved party, it is your right to decide what I must do."

Spock's tone and manner were formal, ritual. Jim had the chilling thought that he could tell Spock to walk out the nearest service lock without a pressure suit and he just might do it.

"First, I want your word that you will never rearrange my mind again without my permission. Second, I want you to put my memories back the way they were, right now."

Jim had expected his lenient conditions to relax Spock a little. It didn't work. If anything, Spock became even more rigid.

"I give you Zhit't-dor, pledge of honor, not to repeat my crime. However, I must ask you to reconsider requiring me to repair your memories. It would be best to use the services of a trained healer. I will arrange for that as quickly as possible."

That idea didn't appeal to Jim at all. He was sure that the healer would be prepared to cut the bond as well. He also needed to find out exactly why Spock was so reluctant to meld with him.

"That's not good enough. I'm not waiting weeks, maybe months, just to have a stranger stirring around in my head when you know exactly what to look for and can do it now. You had no problem making a meld last night. What's different, now?"

This time Spock answered immediately.

"We are different. Now that we are aware of …… the nature of the bond, any further encouragement of it is not advisable."

Pay dirt! Spock had brought up the subject so he wouldn't be able to refuse to discuss it from any angle, emotional as well as logical.

"How could that encourage the bond if we both didn't want it? In fact, how could a natural bond … telant'tel, right? …. How could that form in the first place without us both wanting it? You're going to have to explain it to me or I'm going to insist on the meld. But sit down while you do it. I'm getting a crick in my neck."

Spock's eyebrow went up at Jim's use of the word, telant'tel. Jim wasn't sure if his surprise was because Jim knew the proper Vulcan term or because of his lousy pronunciation. He didn't really care. What he did care about and was pleased with was that Spock complied with his request and crossed the room to sit in his accustomed place at the desk. They were now in the positions that they had occupied for all those comfortable, companionable evenings of chess and conversation. Jim was betting that even Vulcans weren't immune to Pavlovian responses. But, Spock didn't loosen up. He sat on the edge of the chair, still as taut as violin strings. Damn! What was sending Spock into such a tailspin? Jim's answer came immediately.

"It is not teltant'tel. The translations are faulty. There is no such state as the term 'link' implies. Because of the secrecy surrounding such things, I was not aware of that but ignorance is no excuse. I am responsible for the bond; I created it. Also, my need during the Pon Farr is the cause of it becoming a mating bond. This was never something chosen of your own free will.

"After receiving McCoy's message and becoming aware that it was such a bond, I could not resist experiencing it consciously. I was doing so when you awakened. ……… I shared your sexual reaction in the shower. I shared it physically. I can not trust my reactions to further mental contact with you. The bond will be difficult to dissolve in its present state. I do not believe that I could force myself to allow that if it should become … fully functional."

Jim didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or weep. But, he was too good a tactician to count a battle won prematurely. He settled on a small, controlled chuckle.

"Oh, Spock, my sweet innocent. You didn't do anything to me but satisfy what was already there. I've had the hots for you since the second I stepped off of the transporter pad as Captain of the Enterprise."

He was rewarded with another raised eyebrow.

"You hid it well."

"Only from you. Anyone who had known me before, knew it. McCoy, Gary Mitchell. I know Gary was barely civil to you when Pike was in command but don't tell me that you didn't notice how much worse he got once I was on board?"

"You had been very close friends. He could not understand that, as Captain, you could not show him the favoritism he desired. I was a convenient target for his frustration."

Jim was relieved to see that Spock was beginning to relax a little. But, obviously, he was still not convinced. It was always a risk being completely honest about past affairs but Jim decided to take that risk.

"Oh, it was a lot more than that. Gary and I were lovers when we were at the Academy; roommates and lovers for almost four years. But, Gary insisted that we keep it a secret; xenophobia wasn't his only problem. No one ever figured it out but Bones. I couldn't take Gary's prejudice and paranoia any more and Bones overheard our break up. He offered me the use of his professors' quarters for the six months until graduation and that's when our friendship began.

"When I came aboard the Enterprise, Gary didn't want friendship. He wanted to be lovers again. My being captain didn't have a damn thing to do with my not wanting that and he knew it. I didn't want him. I wanted you. It wasn't frustration; it was blind, green-eyed jealousy. You weren't a convenient target, Spock; you were the only target."

"However true that might be, Captain, desiring a sexual liaison does not justify being forced into a permanent, exclusive bond."

Shit! How could Bones have ever thought that Spock would be capable of anything like the mind-rape his doppelganger had used?

"You can't be forced into something that you want. And, don't start blaming yourself for that. You didn't pervert my psi-challenged human mind. I wanted something permanent with you long before your Pon Farr; long before you created the 'link'. I think that I wanted it from the very first time we melded. I haven't got the words to explain what that felt like. It was …… it was like coming home.

"I guess I started figuring that out when you pulled what you did to rescue Pike. I thought I was angry at you for not trusting me. When I had a chance to think about it, I found out that what I was really angry about was you putting me on the opposite side of that court-martial table to protect me. I didn't want to be protected that way. No matter what the danger, what the risk, the only place I wanted to be was beside you; sharing everything with you; good or bad.

"As for the exclusive part of the bond, I'll tell you what I told Bones. When you've finally got what you've been looking for, you don't need to go on searching for it anymore. What I've been looking for is you."

Spock sat in silent thought while Jim tried to pretend that he wasn't worried about it. When Spock finally spoke, Jim discovered that he had been holding his breath. It was all he could do not to gasp for air.

"Then, your research was for the purpose of preventing the dissolution of the bond?"

Ok, this was the bottom line. What was the old saying? If you love something, set it free.

"Yes, but only to use as a threat if I needed it to get you talking about what you really wanted, instead of what was logical. If you really want out of our bond, I won't hold you to it. I'll wait for the healer and the bond and my memories can be taken care of at the same time.

"I won't even ask you for your reasons. But, I will ask you for that pledge of honor that they have nothing to do with protecting me. Mom and Peter would be fine with it. They ask about you in the first paragraph of every letter as it is. As for Star Fleet, I don't give a rat's ass how they react. I'll captain for an Orion Trader before I let the brass hats tell me who I can or can't marry."

More silence. Then a very softly spoken question.

"To meld and to alter the mind without permission is Pushau-dor, Broken Honor; the worst of crimes. How can you still want to be bonded to me?"

"How couldn't I want to be bonded to someone who would dishonor himself because he couldn't stand to see me hurting when he could do something about it?"

Every battle has that one critical point where winning or losing is decided by the next move. Jim suddenly knew that this was it. It took all the courage he had to reach out his hand to Spock, index and middle finger extended.

Spock stared at the hand and then at Jim's face. After a heart-stopping pause, with what Jim could only recognize as disbelief and wonder, Spock placed his own fingers against Jim's.

"T'hy'la."

Chapter 6

All the emotions that Spock had deadened completely, when he believed that Jim wanted the bond ended, were back and struggling to run riot. Nothing but pure, blind instinct had forced his hand out to join with Jim's. Now, that instinct failed him and logical thought did not seem able to replace it. The universe was turned upside down. What could not be possible was not only possible but was reality.

His thoughts swirled, surged and ebbed, refusing to coalesce into any rational patterns. Nor did the rush of Jim's reactions through the touch-enhanced bond do anything to alleviate this. If anything the strobe of raw emotion coming from him was as confused as Spock's thoughts. It seemed that Jim had been no more prepared for this eventuality than Spock had been.

Then, Spock received an image of a rather small humanoid clutching the tail of an extremely large striped feline. That image coming from Jim Kirk - the Captain of the Enterprise who fearlessly faced a genetic superman, a Gorn, an ancient Greek god, assorted Klingon and Romulan commanders and more! He looked into Jim's eyes; those eyes that had wickedly seduced beings from one end of the galaxy to the other; and he saw need, painful yearning, and uncertainty.

Suddenly, Spock rose, moved around the desk to stand in front of Jim. Pulling him up from the chair, he wrapped his arms around him and held Jim tightly against his chest in an unbreakable embrace. In an instant, their bond flared wide, each flooding into the other. The combination of intense need and possessive desire each found in the other was overwhelming. Spock felt Jim sag against him with unaccustomed pliancy, almost fragility. Spock hesitated.

"_Is this physical contact acceptable to you, T'hy'la?"_

Jim's arms snaked around him and a bright, fierce strength filled Jim's aura.

"_Oh, God, Spock, just shut up and kiss me."_

Spock felt a rush of insecurity. He had no experience with this. How could he possibly satisfy this sensual, emotional creature that was now his T'hy'la? With great trepidation, he softly, tentatively touched his lips to Jim's.

It was such an alien thing, this kiss, this touching of lips; even more alien for the touch of cool human lips.

Cool lips lightly brushing back and forth across his. Lavishly moist tongue following their path then parting his lips with gentle insistence. Sharp bladed teeth, nipping then capturing his lower lip; urging his mouth open. Tongue invading, seeking; finding his tongue; raspy, liquid caresses.

"_Jim?"_

"_Let go, Spock. Just let yourself go."_

Spock allowed all that was Jim to inundate him. The heat, the need; as contained as his own then surging brighter, hotter; becoming the sun core of Jim's dream. Melting him, releasing his own fire and need.

Jim's sensations mixed with his own. Breath heavy with iron mixing with breath tangy with copper. Hot hands touching cool skin, cool hands caressing hot. The taste of rich, earthy herbs blending with that of sparse, desert spices. The human sensations were only slightly more alien to him than his own. Everything so long denied now offered in abundance; Spock wanted more.

He moved one hand to grasp the back of Jim's head. Burying his fingers in the curling strands, he applied full concentration to the kiss. Mouths became hard, insistent, demanding; each seeking to devour and be devoured. As his mind followed Jim's into the unknown, his body began to follow with mimicking motions and then to lead equally as it discovered its own sensitivities. It all became a blur of giving and receiving with little knowledge of who was doing which.

Hands found buttocks, taking them hostage; clutching swollen sex against swollen sex. Bodies, twisting, grinding, struggled to merge. Mind to mind, body to body; two becoming one. Separate unfulfilled voids of loneliness and isolation meeting, merging; satiating each other. No beginning, no ending. No sense of time. Higher and higher, hotter and hotter. Need feeding on need, fire on fire. Sensation beyond understanding; no lucid thought.

Guttural cries, Vulcan and Human as all surges into torturously glorious catharsis.

A sun gone nova.

Then falling, a flaming Icharus, smiling; the dying small payment for the ecstasy. Darkness.

A sense of being slowly rising, lucid thought returning. The darkness wasn't his.

Spock opened his eyes to find himself half-sitting on the desk, supporting Jim's limp weight. With great relief, he sensed that Jim was only unconscious and was already beginning to awaken from it. Moving to sit solidly on the desk, Spock drew Jim onto his lap. He gently smoothed the perspiration wet hair away from Jim's face and studied the so aesthetically pleasing lines of that face. Spock felt choked by the swell of his emotions; lust, the need to possess, but also the need to cherish, please and protect. And fear.

Long lashes laying against golden skin; lips, slightly parted, swollen with passion; the lined strain of command completely smoothed away; Jim seemed something ethereal, some creature of dreams that would disappear with the blink of an eye. If that happened, Spock didn't believe that he could survive the pain of it.

This wasn't logical, of course. The solid weight of Jim in his arms should have dissuaded Spock from such fantasy. It didn't. Spock was paying for the years of solid control. His emotions and desires, now unleashed, were sucking him into a morass of uncertainty. Was this what humans called 'love'?

He waited, controlling his anxiety, until Jim stirred and then came instantly awake. Not wishing to risk further trauma, Spock dampened the bond and spoke aloud.

"Jim? Jim, are you injured?"

Jim's eyes opened and flashed wickedly as a smile curved his lips.

"Damn, Spock. When you let go …….. I've never felt anything like that before."

He reached up, curled his fingers around the back of Spock's head and attempted to draw him into another kiss. Spock resisted.

"This is not advisable. You have been unconscious." Cradling Jim in his arms, Spock stood and began walking toward the outer door. "You may have suffered some mental injury. I will take you to Dr. McCoy."

"No!"

It was Jim's command voice.

"Put me down!"

Jim's face had hardened to match his voice. Spock stopped walking but didn't move to release his hold on Jim. His mind screamed at him from two diametrically opposed positions. Technically, this wasn't a command situation. This was necessary for the welfare of his T'hy'la. But, Jim was also his captain. He was conflicted. He couldn't seem to find a way to reconcile the two. It should be easy to do so but he couldn't. He turned to Jim.

"T'hy'la?"

Jim's face softened. His fingers brushed Spock's cheek with a feather soft caress.

"Spock. In here you are my lover, my life, and I will do anything for you. But, once we step past that door, I'm the Captain of the Enterprise. You carrying me through the corridors like this - when only a blind man couldn't tell that we had just shagged each other - isn't the way I want to announce our relationship. We both need a shower and a change of clothes. After that, we'll talk about it."

This brought Spock back to the reality of their situation. Though his robe had fared better than Jim's uniform, they were both in a very disheveled state. He became aware of the embarrassing effect his carrying Jim through the corridors of the Enterprise in such a state might have had on the rest of the crew. Jim's relationship with them was more important to Jim than his own well-being. It was not more important to Spock. This was not a new conflict between them but it was now a great deal harder for Spock to give in to Jim's point of view on it. Very reluctantly, he placed Jim back on his feet.

"I will not relent on this, T'hy'la. Nothing I have read ever mentioned unconsciousness as a normal aspect of human sexual encounters. After you have made yourself more presentable, I will insist on accompanying you to the infirmary."

Spock expected Jim to react to this with his usual stubbornness and was surprised when he nodded in agreement.

"You may be right. But, then, if my health is so questionable, you really shouldn't take the chance of leaving me alone in the shower, should you?"

Before Spock quite knew what was happening, he found himself standing in the bathroom, feeling equal parts of amusement and exasperation as Jim began undoing the fastenings of his robe. He should have known that Jim would not surrender so easily. He grasped Jim's hands, halting his progress on the fastenings.

"I do not believe that it is necessary for _me_ to disrobe in order for _you_ to take a shower."

Jim looked at him with an extremely serious expression; completely ruined by the impish humor he was broadcasting through the bond.

"But it is necessary for one of the most important human marriage rituals."

Spock knew that Jim was intent on initiating further intimacy between them but couldn't force himself to put an end to the game.

"Indeed? I was not aware of any such rituals involving bathing."

"Oh, yes. Maybe Vulcans are more flexible than humans but I have it on best authority that one of the most important parts about being married is having someone to scrub your back."

"And just what authority would that be?"

"Mom."

Spock steeled himself to resist the provocative nature of what was about to occur and released his grip on Jim's hands.

"I would not hazard to question that authority."

Jim immediately set to work on the fastenings again.

"Wise move."

As Jim pushed his robe off of his shoulders, Spock stepped out of it and his soft slippers and stood completely naked before another for the first time in his adult life. He could not prevent a flush of embarrassment from deepening the greenish tinge of his skin. He began to berate himself for his lack of control when Jim's breathy sigh diverted him.

"My Lord, Spock, you're beautiful."

The image that came through the bond was realistic yet far too flattering; no fantasy demigod yet a great deal more than Spock had ever seen himself to be. In a paralyzed fascination, Spock watched as Jim reached out and ran his hand down the side of Spock's body from chest to thigh. Spock felt his penis engorging, rising again. When Jim's fingers lightly brushed the head and double flared ridges of it, Spock's whole body shivered and he couldn't prevent a small gasp from escaping his lips. His relief as Jim withdrew his hand and backed up two steps was short lived as a new torture began. Slowly and with intentionally erotic motions, Jim began to remove his clothing.

As inch after inch of skin appeared tantalizing in its own right and titillating in its promise of the next, Spock began to burn in body and mind with no ability to halt the process. When Jim at last stood before him completely naked, Spock broke. With a low growl he stepped forward and reached out to take what was his.

Jim swiftly moved back, placed a hand in the center of Spock's chest and held him at arm's length.

"No."

Shame flooded Spock. He lowered his head and, with great difficulty, he forced himself to speak.

"I apologize for my lack of control."

Jim's hand moved from his chest to clasp his chin and force his face up to stare into Jim's. There was only love there.

"Don't. We're not so different, human and Vulcan. The first time, nobody has any control. We go straight from nothing, never, nada to everything all at once. It takes time to learn the in between. That is what we are going to start doing now. We are going to shower together, wash each other, touch and look all we want to but nothing else. At least not until later. If you need something else to think about, try figuring out how to teach me to control my end of the bond the way you do yours. It can't help you, my broadcasting at full volume all the time."

"Is that what humans do? Think of something else?"

"Yes."

Spock took a moment to study Jim's beautiful single ridged penis. It was obviously just as aroused as his own.

"Then what do _you_ intend to think about during our shower?"

"How to break the news to Bones that he's going to be best man at a wedding."

"Fascinating."

FIN


End file.
